The Price Of Fear
by CordeliaBlack
Summary: A chain of events is set in motion that leaves Trip & Malcolm's lives in the balance. Rated PG-13 just to be safe.
1. Prologue

A/N --- Ahem…. Is this thing on??? Ok, disclaimer time. I don't own Enterprise or any of its characters. I made no money on this story. Thank you for not suing. :o)

Some minor spoilers for various episodes from various seasons scattered throughout the whole story.

Special thanks to Rinne for her kind support while I wrote this! RL has been keeping me away, but I'm back!

**__**

The Price of Fear

An elaborately cloaked woman approached the small hut. She seemed dark in the gathering twilight as the gloom of a persistently trickling rain covered her in its haziness. A small bundle rested in her arms. It might have been an armload of laundry for the care she seemed to give it, but it was shaped like a swaddling cloth. And, still as it was, there was a child beneath the billowy layers. She hurried to the door and began to knock loudly and shout.

"Let me in! We must hurry!"

After a long pause punctuated by the pounding of her fist on the door, a crack of light pierced the falling darkness. A woman peered out, her brow quickly creasing the youthful face into a dismayed expression.

"Anda," she breathed. "Is it time already?"

The cloaked woman nodded once. "Don't just stand there," she said sharply, "open the door."

The woman's pale green face flushed several shades darker and she stepped aside allowing Anda to push past her into the house. She stood framed in the lighted doorway for a few seconds, her eyes cast to the ground. Then she closed the door with a push of her hand and a petulant twirl of her petticoat.

She hurried to follow the flurry of cloaks down the hall into a dimly candlelit room at the end, but stopped when a man exited in front of her. His hands came gently down on her shoulders.

"Abella," he spoke softly, "please."

"I am not ready to say goodbye yet." Tears streamed down her face, but otherwise it was like stone.

"It is time," he kept his tone hushed and paused briefly mid-sentence to allow her to regain her composure, "…time to let her go. Do you want this kind of life for her?"

She buried her face in her hands. "We should never have let it get this far," she said between shaky breaths. "She is our daughter…"

"And she has done her duty," he said almost reverently, "as will the next." He paused as if searching for something to say to comfort her. "We will name the new one Iana too."

She tipped her head up to him with tearstained eyes. A look of horror crossed her face. "No. That is _her_ name."

"A part of her will be the same," he said, voice never rising above a whisper. "We will care for her as we cared for the ones before."

"But _she_ was not like the others," Abella protested. "She was our daughter."

Even now she didn't realize she was speaking in the past tense. She had accepted the circumstances even if she didn't agree with them. Her husband nodded and smiled gently. Then murmurs from the candlelit room drew them to the doorway.

Anda pulled the hood from her face and approached the white four-poster bed in the center of the room. Candlelight moved across the walls and cast shadows that danced with toys scattered around the room. There, in the masses of blankets, she could just make out the shape of a body.

"Iana, sweetie," she crooned as she unwrapped her bundle, "I have a visitor for you."

The form in the bed stirred, breath becoming raspy in its agitation. Anda let the swaddling cloth slip to the floor and moved the child in her hands closer to the bed. The soft lighting could not hide the baby's appearance. It was listless and pale with half-lidded eyes. There were no cries or kicks. No movements at all except the slow and feeble ones that passed for breathing.

"She needs your help Iana," Anda continued. "She will not live without you."

The form on the bed seemed to pause for a moment, then spindly hands raised ever so slightly towards the baby. Anda hastily set the child in Iana's arms, then backed away.

Abella stood in the doorway with her husband. She could not bear to look, but found herself riveted to the scene before her. Tears were streaming again, her body wracked with silent sobs. Her husband moved to hold her but she pushed him away.

The baby seemed balanced atop the form on the bed. For a long moment nothing happened. Then a glow began to emanate from within the blanket's folds . It apparently came from within Iana. The glow steadily increased and Abella could see her daughter's face. The pigtails in her hair were in stark contrast to its paleness and the wrinkles on her glowing face. The stuffed animals surrounding her seemed incongruous.

And then the miracle started, as it always did. She could see the sallow color of the baby becoming less gray and it started moving. The previously tenuous hold Iana had on the child became rock steady. When the glow reached its height, the baby was giggling gleefully, none of the sickly grayness remained.

Abella's eyes were fastened to her daughter as the wrinkle-worn face creased even more -- then turned to gray and began to melt away. Iana's pale blue eyes closed and the baby fell down towards the bed as the body beneath it slowly disintegrated. The glow still covered the blankets and the ashes that had been Iana seemed to scuttle over the child. Then the room darkened again.

Anda moved haltingly toward the bed. She lifted a candle from the nightstand and held it near the blankets. The baby smiled up at her and began to coo. There was no sign of Iana left but the depression in the covers of her deathbed. Anda breathed a sigh of relief and collected the baby in her arms. She walked slowly toward the couple waiting in the doorway and stopped just long enough to place the child in Abella's arms. Afterwards she left the house without a word. Abella stared down at the little face and managed a small comforting smile for the baby's sake.

Nobody noticed when, later that night, Abella left too. Her husband awoke the next morning to an empty bed -- and an empty house. Years would pass before anybody would see them again.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N - Please see Prologue for disclaimer. :o)

A/N 2 -- added 12/17/04 -- reposted chapter w/corrections!

**__**

The Price Of Fear

Chapter 1

I

All unessential personnel had evacuated the Engineering Department of the Earth Starship _Enterprise_. It wasn't a declared emergency at all or even a drill, simply an opportune retreat from a less then pleasant work environment. The remaining engineering crew cringed silently as the argument between their Chief Engineer, Commander "Trip" Tucker, and the ship's Armory Officer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, reached toward an ever increasing crescendo.

"It's called _warp_ plasma because it's fer the _warp_ engines," Trip said loudly putting a strong emphasis on the word 'warp'. His southern drawl was more pronounced in his irritation.

Malcolm gritted his teeth. "Well I have uses for it in the Armory as well," he ground out, his own British accent was short and clipped. "Besides, it is _warp_ plasma that I already requisitioned."

"The requisition was _not _approved."

"I only put it through an hour ago."

"Well, we already used it…on the _warp_ engines."

"Just used it," Malcolm said hotly. "For non-essential maintenance. After I requisitioned it."

"_All_ maintenance on the warp core is essential," Trip said with an affronted look.

"It's nice to know you find the protection of this ship so important," Malcolm said shortly.

"I think the protection of the ship is very important, Lieutenant," Trip said, then after a pause he added "Just not as important as keepin' it runnin'."

Malcolm opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a woman's voice behind him, gratingly calm in the wake of their heated discussion.

"Is there a problem, Gentlemen?" Sub-Commander T'Pol asked.

"No, Sub-Commander," Trip responded slipping instantly into gentlemanly mode. "How may we help you?"

Malcolm turned his head to look at the Vulcan first officer as she approached with a data padd in her extended hand and gave it to Trip.

"I came to deliver a requisition approval for four units of warp plasma to the Armory." She said.

"I'm afraid we only have the four left that we keep for emergency stores," Trip responded.

"The manifest shows eight," T'Pol said, still in her unemotional Vulcan manner.

"We just used them," Trip explained. "The manifest'll be updated shortly."

T'Pol took the data Padd back from Trip. "Very well," she said almost curtly. "In the future, please make your updates more promptly."

Trip nodded slightly. Sub-Commander T'Pol returned the gesture and made her customarily graceful exit. Malcolm, his jaw clenched, turned sharply and followed behind her.

"We're only a couple days away from dry dock, Trip." Captain Jonathan Archer glanced at his friend as they sat eating dinner at the table in the Captain's cabin. "Couldn't it have waited until then?"

"It's a matter of pride, Jon," Trip said, waving his hands, utensils and all. "Can't have those Starbase engineers thinkin' we run a dirty ship now can we?"

"I understand that," Archer said, an amiable smile spreading on his face, "but there are other considerations."

Trip looked a little confused.

"It's been a stressful few months," Archer continued. Trip nodded, his mouth now full.

"I think we all need a break." The Captain paused and Trip nodded again chewing steadily.

"We're only a couple days from Earth." Trip kept nodding and Archer kept talking. "Just the thing for everybody."

Trip swallowed a bite, then his brow furrowed slightly. "So what's the problem then?"

"I've been getting reports of minor complaints from every department," Archer said not smiling anymore. He stood up and started to pace in the confined space next to his chair. "Some of them less minor. There was a fist-fight in the mess hall three days ago."

"I heard about that," Trip said shaking his head.

"The point is, people are on edge," Archer continued pacing, "and I need my senior officers to set an example for the rest of the crew."

Trip opened his mouth to protest, but Archer turned his head slightly and raised a hand.

"Half the engineering staff cleared out when you two started up," he said. "Hell, T'Pol even complained."

"I thought she looked a little upset about the manifest," Trip said with a thoughtful expression. "I was plannin' to apologize to her."

"I don't know what's going on with you and Lieutenant Reed, but I expect better when you're on duty," Archer said. "I will have this discussion with Malcolm as well."

Trip looked down at his food. "I guess it was a little overboard," he admitted. Then he looked up and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "You know how difficult Malcolm can be to work with sometimes. I guess my patience might be wearin' a little thin."

"Like I said," Archer sat down again, the smile reappearing a little tentatively, "we're all a little on edge. Just try to…"

"T'Pol to Captain Archer," a voice on the intercom interrupted.

He stood again and tapped the comm on the wall. "Archer here."

"Captain," T'Pol's even tones filled the room, "we are receiving a distress signal originating approximately two point two four light years from our current position."

"Set a course," Archer said, "I'll be there shortly." Then he turned to Trip. "I guess it might be more than a couple days to dry dock after all."

Trip nodded, set his napkin down on the table and followed the Captain out the cabin door.

**__**

II

A man's pale green face loomed in the _Enterprise_ view screen. Aside from this obvious difference, he would have passed for human. He waved his hands animatedly as he talked.

"I do not know how we can thank you, Captain," he said. "The loss of this station would have had widespread implications for the Tuin people. Not to mention the damage it might have caused on the surface. You have helped us tremendously."

Archer nodded wearily. "I appreciate your confidence, Consul MirAhn," he said. "Our Chief Engineer will join you on the station to bring the necessary parts and equipment and lend his expertise. We'll send a shuttlepod over shortly."

"We will await his arrival." The man's skin seemed to almost split with the pressure of his too-large smile.

Archer returned the smile with a more conservative one of his own. When the screen went black he turned to face Trip.

"Commander," he said, "it sounds like the repairs should be pretty straightforward." He paused then said, "I'd like someone to accompany you in case it turns out to be a little more complicated."

"I'll inform Lieutenant Hess," Trip said and moved to leave.

"Actually, Lieutenant Reed will be joining you," the Captain said. Malcolm Reed glanced up sharply from the tactical station. "I would feel better having security in on this," he continued. "And, besides, Malcolm knows his way around an engine room. If you need any help I'm sure he will be more than qualified to assist you."

"But these people…." Trip started, but Archer silenced him with a look. He looked at Malcolm. They had both received an unofficial reprimand from the Captain regarding their recent behavior. If this wasn't a test to prove he and the Lieutenant could conduct themselves on a professional level after the previous incident, he didn't know what it was. He bit his tongue.

"Yes, sir." Trip nodded at Malcolm and walked to the lift doors. Malcolm followed in silence, his hands clasped behind his back.

**__**

III

The small ship hovered, just barely, behind one of the smaller Tuin moons. It was strategically positioned beyond the fringes of any nearby vessel's scanning range, including _Enterprise_. The only thing within its active scanners was the station, but the scanners there were not functional so no scans would be detected.

If they _had_ been detected any scan would have probably not just shown the vessel and crew, but the emotion swirling around its small interior. It was so strong, it had a presence in itself. It was a righteousness that, unashamed, excluded all else.

The Captain of the vessel looked at his readouts with such an intensity that it seemed he might bore a hole through the screen. His dark green eyes scanned relentlessly. He didn't seem to notice anything around him other than the screen.

"Good," he muttered to himself, "the station's orbit is still decaying."

A woman approached and looked over his shoulder at the readings. "They are attempting repairs, are they not?" she asked. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear her. "What if they succeed?"

"There is not sufficient time to complete the necessary repairs," he said. The Captain did not look as convinced as he sounded. His eyes continued to burn into the screen as the readings refreshed themselves.

"For us, maybe," she continued, more boldly, "but the Earth vessel's technology appears to be more advanced. The mission is in jeopardy."

The Captain's eyes flashed up to bore into her. She shifted uncomfortably.

"This mission will not fail, Leta," he said decisively. There was no room for argument. He turned his eyes back to the screen. "One way or another," he muttered, "this mission will not fail. Like it or not, that is why we are here."

**__**

IV

The two _Enterprise_ officers found themselves in the small, sparse engine room of the Tuin station. Malcolm stood with his arms folded, quietly observing Trip as he worked under the center console. Only the Commander's legs stuck out from the small space beneath. They moved as he squirmed underneath the console and several muffled, unintelligible words wafted up. Apparently things were not going well. After a few minutes, Trip's hand slipped out palm up and he wiggled his fingers impatiently.

"Hey, Malcolm," he shouted, "Could ya hand me the micro caliper?"

Malcolm didn't move, just stood there with his arms crossed. "It's about two inches away from your hand," Malcolm said. Then after a pause, "To the right."

Trip twisted just enough to see Malcolm from under the console. He knit his brow and frowned. "Would it kill ya to help a little here?"

"It would seem I'm here for security reasons," Malcolm said, a note of irritation in his voice.

Trip looked at him for a moment. "I Know MerAhn doesn't look like much, but…"

"Not much indeed," Malcolm snorted. "My sister's parakeet could beat him in a wrestling match," he paused briefly and shook his head, "and it died twenty years ago."

"Now ya know it's not courteous to talk about our host that way," Trip said. He scooted back under the console with a smile at the corner of his lips. He had to admit the Tuin were a little skinny looking.

Malcolm ignored him and knelt down so he was in Trip's view again. "The only reason we're here," he waved his arms expansively, "together, is that the Captain wants to teach us a lesson."

"Okay, lesson learned then I say." Trip said fumbled with the relays, muttered another curse then said, "Besides, ya woulda assigned a security detail anyway, so why're ya complainin'"

"I would have assigned someone else," Malcolm continued fuming. "I have duties on the ship. I'm not getting anything done here."

Trip twisted out from under the console and sat up. "Then why don't ya help me out a little here an' quit complainin'? I could use a hand."

Malcolm approached and knelt down near the console. "Can I hand you a laser probe? Or maybe a relay or two?"

"Every little bit helps," Trip said then paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Look Malcolm, Cap'n's right, we've all been on edge lately. Sorry 'bout yesterday." He paused and smiled broadly. "How's this, from now on my warp plasma is your warp plasma."

Malcolm rolled his eyes and grunted in response. "What a magnanimous gesture."

Trip kept looking at him, smile never wavering. "Ya know, you've been an awful crabass lately."

"I know," Malcolm said. A smirk crept onto his face. "I've been working on it."

He reached for the micro caliper and placed it in Trip's hand. Trip took the tool, smiled a little wider and crawled back under the metal canopy. It was quiet for a moment, then Trip spoke up again.

"For someone who's always so concerned with doin' things by the book," his voice was a little muffled under the console, " ya certainly have enough to say about the cap'n's orders."

He said it casually without thinking and instantly regretted the statement. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Malcolm stiffened, but didn't say a word. Trip sighed and decided to let it go. There was too much to do, and it wasn't going as well as expected. He focused on his repairs for several minutes before coming to a startling realization.

"Hey, Malcolm," he said.

"Sir?" Malcolm stooped again to look under the console.

"Looks like a little case of sabotage here," Trip said. A bright spark flashed and he swore under his breath.

"Commander?" Malcolm asked urgently. He got down on his hands and knees for a better look.

"I'm okay," Trip replied. "Gotta hand it to 'em, it was pretty well hidden, but I got it." He rubbed his hands together gingerly then slid out from under the console.

**__**

V

Leta's dark hair obscured her face as she bent over her console. The room was dim and lights flashed across her in lines. She had convinced her captain to tear himself away from the readings on the understanding that she would monitor them personally. She pored over the data with extreme care, if not with the same fervor he had.

Then her heart sank in despair as a wholly unexpected set of telemetry moved across the screen. She knew that it meant the world as she knew it was over. Their world. Their future. Their lives.

"The Station's orbit has stabilized," she said quietly.

She was heard. The barest whisper would have reverberated through the silent room like a gong. The Captain approached in slow motion from behind her, or at least it seemed as if he did. In reality, Leta knew everything was moving very quickly. A single tear slid involuntarily from her eye.

"Take us in." The Captain's voice was filled with purpose and finality as he spoke for the last time.

**__**

VI

"Tucker to Cap'n Archer." Trip's voice echoed through the comm link on the bridge of _Enterprise_.

"Archer here." The Captain sat straight in the command chair in the center of the bridge. "How're the repairs coming?"

"Everythin's comin' along just fine, Cap'n," he said. "In fact, it's all done."

"Good." Archer smiled to himself. "As soon as you and Malcolm are back, we'll be underway."

"There was just one little thing that MerAhn neglected to mention," Trip added.

Archer frowned a little. "And what was that?"

"Well," Trip paused then went on, "the station was sabotaged."

"Who's responsible?" Archer asked. "Is MerAhn aware?"

"Oh, he was aware all right," Trip said. "Apparently there's a war goin' on here."

Archer's frown deepened. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Trip said. "After I informed MerAhn of the problem, a technician came in to help complete the repairs. He admitted it readily enough."

Archer face hardened. "I want you and Malcolm out of there now. Get the shuttlepod back here right away."

"Aye, Cap'n." Trip closed the comm link.

"Hoshi," Archer snapped turning to the communication's officer, "hail the Consul please."

"Yes sir," she responded working on the board in front of her.

"Captain," T'Pol said from the science station. "There is a ship on course for the station."

The screen came to life with the face of Consul MerAhn. He didn't wear the same smile as before. He was jittery, his eyes darting from place to place at the slightest noise.

"Captain," he said. "The approaching ship on your sensors," he did not wait for a response, "you must destroy it."

"Captain," T'Pol said, "the station is locking weapons on the approaching vessel."

"We will do no such thing, Consul," Archer said firmly. "Are they part of this war I've recently been informed of?" He began speaking slowly and deliberately. "My people will be returning to _Enterprise_ and we will be leaving. We do not involve ourselves in conflicts we know nothing about."

"Make no mistake, Captain," MerAhn spat in a surprising turn of character, "you are already involved. The renegades perceive you as their enemy." He paused briefly and shook his head. " These people are savages. If you value the lives of your people, you will help us defend this station."

The view screen switched from the seething green face to an image of the approaching ship.

Archer tapped the comm link on his chair. "Lieutenant Hess," he said.

"Aye, sir."

"Get down to the transporter room and get ready to transport Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed off the station."

"Yes sir," Hess responded.

Archer turned to Hoshi. "Hail them, Ensign." She nodded.

"Nothing, Sir." She looked at him with her finger on her earpiece. After a moment, "Still no response."

"Captain," It was T'Pol again, "they are increasing speed and locking weapons on us."

"Polarize the hull plating."

It was just in time. The bridge rocked from the first volley.

Archer turned to face the communications station. "Hoshi, hail them."

The bridge shook again.

"No response, sir." There was a pause as Hoshi listened. She glanced up. "Still nothing."

Archer stabbed at the comm link again as another jolt struck the bridge. "Lieutenant Hess, can you get a lock on the Commander and Malcolm?"

"Trying, sir," she responded, voice tight.

Anticipating the Captain's next question, T'Pol spoke up. "Their weapons are powerful. It could be fatal to remain at this distance." Then she added, "If we fire on them, we will put Starfleet in the middle of this war."

As if to emphasize her words, they were knocked off balance again by another powerful jolt. Sparks flew from several wall consoles and the lights began to flicker giving the bridge the hazy look of a nightclub.

Archer left the comm on. "Travis, back us out, full impulse."

Travis' fingers flew to obey orders, but his quiet "Sir" was hesitant.

"T'Pol, notify me before we leave transporter range." Archer turned his attention back the comm. "Hess, get them out of there the instant you have a lock."

"Yes, sir."

T'Pol looked up quickly, urgently. Shadows shrouded her face. "Captain, their trajectory is inconsistent with an attack on Enterprise. They are approaching the station. It appears that they may attempt to board it." She glanced back at her screen. "We are nearing the limit of transporter range."

"All stop." Archer stood like a charioteer in the midst of battle, only the reins were of a mighty starship. At this moment it was increasingly difficult to restrain it. He knew his duty though. "Hess, do you have a lock?"

Although it was no more than a second, the pause seemed interminable, then, "Sir, I can't get a lock. Most of their shielding is penetrable by our transporter, but they must be in a more densely shielded part of the station."

"MirAhn," Archer spat the name.

"He is attempting to force our involvement," T'Pol said. Her eyes flew over her readings again and she looked up urgently. " Captain, I believe the ship is planning to ram the station."

"Target their engines." At that moment his face was as emotionless as T'Pol's.

"It is too late Captain," T'Pol said, "they will still impact in approximately thirty seconds."

"Then target their reactor," Archer said with finality. "They're dead anyway."

T'Pol glanced up sharply. "Targeted."

"Fire!" The phase cannons lanced out. "Travis, get us away as quickly as possible."

The helmsman executed the command with startling efficiency, but it could not have been fast enough. The renegade ship seemed to quiver in place for an instant, then a fire burst outward sending Enterprise reeling with the force of the blast. The station was closer however, and the lifeless ship seemed to have a will of its own. They watched helplessly as a hulking slab of wreckage launched itself toward the station, splitting it asunder. A plume of fire burst out from the hull.

**__**

VII

Trip stood against the wall in the bare cargo hold he and Malcolm had been tossed into moments earlier and watched as the armory officer paced the floor like a caged animal. They had barely started to return to the shuttlepod when they were intercepted by MerAhn's engineers. He and Malcolm hadn't gone without a fight, but their opponents were well trained, if a little spindly looking. More like security than engineers. Or like soldiers, he realized. To be fair, they were a lot stronger than they looked. Trip was pretty sure Madeline's parakeet would have lost after all.

"We have to get out of here," Malcolm said, eyes scanning the walls and finally falling onto the small door at the far end of the room.

"I'm all for that," Trip responded, "but I don't think it's gonna be all that easy."

Malcolm sighed in frustration. He knew where they were. A well guarded, empty, locked room didn't give them much to work with. He watched for a moment as Trip made himself comfortable on the floor and finally decided to join him.

They hadn't waited in silence for a long before they heard it. A low thundering that sounded like it would run into them. Then it did.

They heard a giant crash, the sound of explosions, of metal twisting. The room shifted violently. They watched as the walls deformed and the door Malcolm had been glaring at creaked open slightly, broken and hanging. Smoke curled through the opening and a klaxon could be heard among the other noises of destruction.

When the floor stopped moving, Trip picked himself up and reached down to lend a hand to his friend. They moved cautiously toward the door.

"What just happened?" Malcolm asked, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it.

"I think we've just moved to the front line," Trip said.

They were by the entrance now. Malcolm moved ahead to check the door. An experimental tug and it creaked open. More smoke swirled into the room and they both choked back coughs. It wasn't as thick as they thought, however, and still barely breathable. They proceeded cautiously through the opening.

"There's nobody here," Malcolm said peering through the haze, his guarded stance relaxing slightly.

"Doesn't look like the most desirable place to be at the moment." Trip turned around to survey the damage. The hallway was warped in a manner that disturbed him greatly. "I think we'd better get outta here too. Structural integrity doesn't look good."

Malcolm turned and led the way toward the shuttlepod. They moved as quickly as possible over fallen debris obscured by smoke and the prevailing dimness of the crumbling station. Then their hurried exit was blocked abruptly by a wall of rubble. Malcolm stood facing the blocked passage while Trip spun around. For an instant there was relative silence except for the sound of air hissing through tiny fractures in the walls.

"Looks like we're not getting back this way," Malcolm said frowning.

There was a sharp cracking noise and the hissing of escaping air was replaced by a much louder noise. A turbulent breeze stirred up dust and smaller pieces of debris left by the explosion. What was left of the station was falling apart.

"Come on, Lieutenant," Trip motioned for Malcolm to follow as he started to run, "This way."

The two men raced through ruined corridors, stumbling occasionally over fallen objects hidden by smoke. Trip swore as his knee connected hard with a deformed piece of wall, but then kept going. There was no time to stop. The station crumbled behind them and sometimes in front of them. It would only be a matter of moments before it dissolved completely. They finally came to an open room. Malcolm stopped short when he realized they had reached a dead end.

"Escape pods," Trip explained breathlessly. He leaned over slightly and put a hand on his now sore knee. "Saw 'em on the station's schematics."

Malcolm nodded once before the immediacy of their situation sent them both rushing for the small pod bays ahead. Malcolm opened the access door to one of the pods.

"This one's gone," he said, closing the hatch none too gently.

"This one too," Trip said. He didn't bother to close his. "Looks like a few people left ahead of us." They continued to search the bays.

"Found one," Malcolm called from the far end of the room.

"Good," Trip said, "I was on my last one."

A voice from behind caused them both to turn. "Step away from the pod." It was MerAhn.

Trip and Malcolm stared as he waved the weapon in his hand toward them.

"I said step away," MerAhn said again in a louder, more urgent voice. "These pods are only designed for one person. Move now or I will kill you where you stand."

Both men raised their hands slightly and started to move away from the pod. Then their eyes were drawn to something behind MerAhn. Portions of the ceiling above him warped and bulged before their eyes. They threw themselves to the ground as it gave way. Startled, MerAhn pulled the trigger on his weapon, but it was off mark as new winds that marked the room's depressurization whipped around him. Then a portion of the wall crumbled, pinning the consul beneath a new pile of rubble.

Trip started quickly toward MerAhn's prone form. Malcolm hesitated briefly as he glanced back at the escape pod, then turned to follow Trip.

Trip knelt next to MerAhn, pulling chunks of rubble off of him. Malcolm glanced nervously around as he came up next to them, then stooped to help. Wind whipped around them and they both squinted against dust flying into their eyes.

"We have to get out of here, Commander," Malcolm said, nearly shouting over the noise. "This thing's going to go any second."

Trip leaned in more closely to assess MerAhn's condition. "He's breathin' Malcolm. Give me a hand, will ya?"

Malcolm reached in to help. Together they lifted the unconscious man and headed toward the pod.

"You heard him," Malcolm said, hanging back slightly, "the escape pod is only designed for one."

"They always build some extra into these things," Trip said. "It should be able to handle more than one."

"But three?" Malcolm asked as they bundled MerAhn into the pod.

"We can't just leave him here," Trip said, gasping in the dwindling atmosphere. " 'Sides, it looks to me like this thing just might handle the load." He gave the pod a friendly pat.

The wind was starting to lose some of it's force and it was getting difficult to breathe. They were running out of air. Malcolm nodded and ducked into the pod, Trip close behind. It was a tight squeeze with MerAhn taking up much of the floor space, but they all fit. The hatch hissed shut behind them as the pod pressurized.

Trip moved to the controls trying to familiarize himself quickly with the alien equipment while Malcolm stood guard over MerAhn. He wasn't about to underestimate this species again. Then the whole pod shook as the ground under them started go give way.

"Ok, here goes nothin'," Trip said, flipping some switches. "Doesn't look like we have our choice of destinations."

The pod lurched forward. They could hear thuds outside as parts of the decaying ship struck the shell of the pod, then the sound stopped. Suddenly free of the wreckage, they headed for the planet's surface. Trip stood up, stooping a little to keep his head from hitting the ceiling.

"There are some straps here," Trip said. "We can secure our friend here with them."

"That's probably what they're for," Malcolm replied as he and Trip tied the consul down. "A restraint system for re-entry."

"I figured as much." Trip glanced around the rest of the pod. "But since this thing _is_ only built for one, looks like _we're_ just gonna have to hang on tight when it starts to get rough."

**__**

VIII

"Lieutenant Hess," Captain Archer called urgently over the commlink.

"Sir," she said. Her voice was hoarse and the sound of sparks over the speaker mirrored the ones crackling on the bridge. Many systems were damaged, he prayed that the transporter wasn't one of them.

"Can you get a transporter lock now?" he didn't sound too hopeful. Hess would have already brought them back if she could have.

"I'm sorry, sir," Archer thought she sounded near the point of tears. "The transporter has sustained extensive damage."

"Do your best," the Captain said, a touch of emotion in his voice as well. "Archer out."

He gazed stoically at the scene playing out on the large bridge view screen. The station stood there, breaking apart before their very eyes. Short range sensors were finally able to read their people, but there was no way to contact them, no way to get them out. If they got too close, the proximity of the ship would finish off the disintegrating structure. There wasn't even a place to dock. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He was vaguely aware of the stunned silence surrounding him. There was nothing else he could do. It would be over in minutes.

"Captain," T'Pol called from the science station, "another escape pod is leaving the station." She glanced meaningfully at the Captain. "There are human biosigns aboard."

"Can we intercept it?" Hope once again tugged at Archer's mind.

"Negative," the sub-commander replied. "In our present shape, we are unable maneuver precisely enough to avoid damage to the pod."

All eyes watched as the station shook in its final throes, watched the small white pod streak toward the planet's atmosphere.

"Track them then," Archer said, then almost to himself, "We're coming."

TBC…


	3. Chapter 2

A/N -- see prologue page for disclaimer.

Thanks to my lovely reviewers! They really help me to stay focused. I appreciate the time you take. KaliedescopeCat -- I'll make that change. I just hope I don't lose any of my reviews (bites nails nervously)…Thanks Snapper & Libran Iniquity - I just love tenterhooks! Hionscifi & Stage Manager, hope I didn't make you wait too long :o). Rinne, I pulled the story off my site until I update it. I did some proofing & made some minor changes before I posted here. Thanks for everything!

A/N 2 -- added 12/17/04 -- reposted chapter w/corrections!

**__**

The Price Of Fear

Chapter 2

__

I

Malcolm opened his eyes slowly, carefully adjusting his throbbing head to the bright light around him. There was a lot of light, but nothing was in focus. Briefly confused, he wondered where exactly he was. He tested his arms, but a weight pinned them down. Panic welled up inside and he started to struggle in spite of the fact that every movement hurt, but a terrible sound stopped him. A low moan turned into a pained cry, then to harsh breathing. He lay still as memories flooded back.

"Trip?" he asked, voice shaking, focusing on the form laying over him. Trip's shoulder pressed painfully into his abdomen, his back visible from Malcolm's vantage . A large area of his blond hair was matted with blood. Malcolm gently slid his arms from underneath. His hands hovered tentatively above his friend's form, but he was momentarily afraid to touch him.

Then a sudden nervousness gripped him. His eyes darted quickly around the pod. MerAhn hung suspended above them by his restraint straps. Malcolm was initially startled by the sight, but the man wasn't moving, apparently unconscious, maybe dead. It looked like the pod had landed upside down. Then Malcolm focused on his location, looking down around him. He and Trip were lying on the ceiling. The position gave him a passing feeling of vertigo but he fought it down. He glanced at the front of the pod. The light was coming in through a gaping hole there. Bright emerald green grasses brushed the opening.

His attention went back to Trip as another moan escaped him.

"Trip?" He asked again.

"Wha…" Trip started, then tried unsuccessfully to sit up.

Malcolm grunted in pain as Trip fell back onto him, then he reached out his hand to help the Commander into a sitting position.

"We made it," Trip said, voice only a whisper. His body was hunched over.

"That's a matter of opinion, Commander," Malcolm muttered as he freed himself from Trip's weight and dragged himself up onto his knees beside his friend.

"You okay?" Trip asked, turning his head slightly toward Malcolm.

"I think we should worry about you first, sir," Malcolm said. "You're hurt." He leaned in and reached with hesitant fingers. "Let me have a look."

Trip straightened a bit and Malcolm saw redness on the left arm cradled in his lap. He gently touched the sleeve, but stopped when the Commander hissed in pain. Then he saw a flash of white. There was bone protruding through the sleeve. A surge of adrenaline pulsed through him and he pulled his fingers back.

"We're going to have to splint that," Malcolm said looking around. "There must be some kind of medikit here."

Trip leaned forward again and bowed his head while Malcolm ransacked what was left of the pod.

"Got it," Malcolm said, grabbing the half hidden case from a corner. He sat on his haunches rummaging for something to use for a splint and finally came up with a few short lengths of tubing from the remains of the front console. He turned around and dropped to his knees again in front of Trip.

"Here," Malcolm started reaching carefully for the Commander's arm, "let me have a look again."

Trip lifted his head obediently, then looked away as Malcolm began to cut the sleeve away with scissors from the medikit. He peeled the edges of the fabric away from the open wound. There was nothing effectual to clean it with, so he dabbed at the edges as well as he could with the antiseptic swabs available to him. Trip was quiet through the entire process, for which Malcolm was grateful, for he knew he must be inflicting a considerable amount of pain through his ministrations.

"I won't be able to set the bone here," Malcolm said, still looking down.

"No arguments 'bout that," Trip managed through clenched teeth.

Malcolm grimaced at the statement. He took a length of gauze from the kit and started to lay it over the wound, incorporating the lengths of tubing into a makeshift splint. Finally, as satisfied as he could be with the finished work, he leaned back a little and started to shrug out of his jacket.

Then there was a loud snap from above. Malcolm instinctively arched over the Commander to protect him from further injury, then turned his head upward to assess the situation. MerAhn was conscious now, and he seemed agitated.

"Let me out of here!" he howled, fighting the restraints.

Malcolm could see that the combination of gravity and the consul's thrashings were weakening the straps. He pulled Trip to the side just as MerAhn's body came crashing down. The consul lay momentarily still where he landed next to them, then started to get up. His face paled as he looked toward the hole in the front of the pod.

"They will know we are here," he said. He looked around and started to scramble toward the back of the pod. He huddled there and squeezed his eyes closed tightly.

Malcolm moved carefully away from Trip and went over to the frightened man.

"Who will know?" he asked.

MerAhn said nothing. Malcolm reached down and shook him roughly. The consul whimpered.

"Be quiet," MerAhn said in hushed tones through uneven breaths, "maybe they will not hear."

Malcolm pivoted on one foot to look out the opening again. There was no noise except for MerAhn's ragged breathing. Not the sound of a bird or the chirp of an insect. There was nothing. Malcolm thought it strange that he hadn't noticed that before. He turned back to the trembling man and gripped him by the shoulders again.

"What's happening here?" Malcolm demanded.

"Lieutenant." Trip's voice caught the armory officer's attention and he turned back again. The Commander sat staring at nothing, his right hand was up in a gesture that begged for silence.

Then Malcolm heard it too. A rustling and thrashing getting louder, as if a wind were blowing branches against the pod. But there was no wind. The air was balmy and quiet, just as it had been before.

"It's too late," MerAhn cried. "The forest does not want us here. We must get away. We must keep moving." He leapt up and ran for the door. His unexpected flight caught Malcolm off balance and the armory officer was tossed to the ground in the flurry of MerAhn's escape. It was a long moment before he carefully pulled himself up again.

"Ya all right?" Trip asked, concern etching his brow.

"Just a little sore," Malcolm responded, brushing himself off. He put a hand on his stomach and smiled slightly. "I don't think there's a spot on me that won't be black and blue by tomorrow."

Then both men were knocked off balance by the sudden shifting of the pod. A loud symphony of grating and screeching assaulted their ears. The grasses in the doorway plastered to the outline of the fissure and seemed to be holding on, gripping as if their ends were tiny fingers. Malcolm glanced up and saw that something was happening to the pod. Indentations formed as he watched. The hull started to crumple. He went quickly over to where Trip sat.

"Think MerAhn had the right idea?" Trip asked.

Malcolm nodded once, then removed his jacket, tying it quickly to make a sling. The Commander paled again as his arm was jostled into it and Malcolm frowned in sympathy. He stood and helped Trip to his feet as the back of the pod flattened behind them. They moved quickly outside, shielding their eyes from the assault of grasses battering them. Malcolm hoped MerAhn's parting words were correct. He didn't know where they would go, but they would have to keep moving.

**__**

II

Archer sat in the near darkness of his quarters. His eyes stared forward and his hand absently stroked the small beagle sitting in his lap. The door chime startled him slightly from his thoughts and he turned his head slightly to the side.

"Come in," he said without turning around.

T'pol's silhouetted form appeared in the doorway. Her hands were clasped behind her back.

"Captain?" she asked.

Archer turned then and the little dog bounded out of his lap to greet their visitor. He sniffed at her pant leg and licked her shoe. She looked down, but didn't say anything. In the darkness Archer couldn't see the look of mild irritation, but he knew it was there.

"Sorry, Sub-Commander," he said absently, then "Computer, Lights."

Archer went to the door, collected Porthos and continued petting the animal. He stepped aside and T'Pol entered. Once the door slid shut, she turned toward him.

"I have an updated report on the repairs, Captain," she said.

Archer nodded.

"Transporters are still down. Estimated time of repair is unknown. Lieutenant Hess is uncertain that repairs can be completed with the resources available onboard."

"And what about communications?" Archer asked.

"Long range communications are still down," she said. "Estimated time of repair is two to three days."

"Maybe that's for the best," Archer said.

T'Pol gave him a questioning look. Archer began to pace.

"I've been in contact with the Tuin Governing Council," Archer paused briefly. "We have permission to launch our own search and rescue mission."

"That is good news," T'Pol said.

"The bad news is that they are only willing to offer assistance in the search if we ally ourselves with them," Archer said, still pacing. "They want weapons and troops."

"I see," T'Pol said with a skeptical air to her voice.

Archer knelt to put Porthos down. He shook his head slightly, then stood up again.

"I have also been in contact with the rebel forces."

T'Pol couldn't help the shocked look that played across her face. "And what do they want?"

"One of their patrols will accompany us," Archer said. "Again, they want a show of support."

"It will seem as if we have sided with the rebels." T'Pol raised an eyebrow and tipped her head. "Perhaps we should forgo the assistance of either party."

"I've considered that, " Archer said rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "but the fact is, the mission is much more likely to succeed with help. We are unable to make a detailed scan of the area that the pod landed. There seems to be something dampening our sensors. We will have to rely on short range scans of the area." He started pacing again. "We are unfamiliar with the terrain, the battle lines and from what I understand, there are some dangerous and unusual wildlife in the area ."

T'Pol nodded, waiting.

"There is a third option," Archer said. "I have been in contact with a small religious organization on the surface, they call themselves The People of the Book. Hoshi found some general cultural information in the database about the Tuin, apparently from the Vulcan's contact with them years ago. It seems they are a defunct sect that used to be quite prominent on the planet. They are willing to help in the search, no conditions."

"Can they be trusted?" T'Pol asked.

"They seem to have no affiliations and no agenda," he said, then after a short pause, "that we know of." Then to her skeptical gaze he added, "Besides, we have no other choice."

"Do you think Admiral Forrest would approve?" T'Pol's voice seemed quieter and almost conspiratorial as she voiced the question.

"I can't say that he would disapprove," Archer said, his face set.

T'Pol nodded, but said nothing. She knew they were walking a thin diplomatic line, and wondered if perhaps the Captain might be stepping over it. She was unwilling, however, to stop him.

**__**

III

Trip swore as he stumbled on the flat ground in what was seeming to become habitual regularity. He thought it felt like the grass was actually trying to trip him, until his mind snapped back to the present and realized that this actually was the case. He sighed wearily allowing his eyes to close a little, and almost fell again. Malcolm caught his arm and cast him a concerned look.

"Perhaps we should try to rest a moment," Malcolm said. "This area seems flat, no trees here. Should be relatively safe."

Malcolm said the last part somewhat uncertainly, but Trip was ready to agree with anything that included the word 'rest'. He nodded his head and glanced over to the remains of a dead tree trunk jutting out of the center of the field. They both stumbled over to it and Trip sank down against the dead wood letting his back slide along the crumbling bark. Malcolm remained standing, short grass slapping impotently against his feet. It seemed to hum shrilly, but did nothing more. After a moment, Trip looked up wearily.

"You should rest too," he said, brow pinched.

"I'm okay," Malcolm said. His eyes darted nervously around as if he expected something to jump out of nowhere at any moment.

"I thought ya said it was safe," Trip said.

"I believe I said _'relatively' _safe."

Trip shook his head slightly and shut his eyes. "I 'preciate your vigilance Malcolm, but yer gonna need some rest too. I don't know if ya got a look at this forest when we were on approach, but I did." He paused and sighed deeply. "We've got a long way to go before we get outta here."

Malcolm glanced at him sharply. The look was lost on the Commander's closed eyes, but his tone didn't go unnoticed. "We might not get out of here if one of us doesn't keep watch," he said hotly.

Trip opened his eyes and his mouth turned down slightly.

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm sorry Trip. I didn't mean it that way. It's just that…" he glanced around briefly.

"Don' worry 'bout it," Trip said. "I'll keep watch in a few minutes so you can rest too."

"That won't be necessary," Malcolm said turning his head back to Trip. "You're right of course." He lowered himself awkwardly to a cross-legged position.

"Sure yer okay?" Trip asked as he watched the normally composed Lieutenant's undignified descent to the ground.

"Muscles are just getting stiff," Malcolm said with a groan. "Remember that it was your idea for me to sit down. I don't know how easily I'll get up again."

"I'll keep that in mind," Trip said with a quick smile, then closed his eyes again. An awkward silence closed over them so he started talking again.

"How long d'ya s'pose it'll be before they find us?" he asked.

"I would've expected them to have found us already," Malcolm said. Then almost as an afterthought, "If they were going to."

"Well, I'm sure they're lookin'," Trip said defensively.

"If they're in a position to do so," Malcolm countered.

"Do ya always have'ta expect the worst?" Trip's accusing tone was tinged with fear, but Malcolm didn't notice.

"I just try to _prepare_ for the worst," Malcolm said, his voice taking on a few extra decibels. "There _is_ a difference."

"Course there is." Trip's voice practically dripped with sarcasm.

Malcolm didn't say anything else and the silence drifted over them again. After a moment Trip shook his head and started talking again.

"Well you go right ahead and think the worst," he said. Malcolm glared at him, but Trip just smiled a small conciliatory smile.

"Guess that leaves me the position of optimist here," he continued. "How 'bout this, once this little detour's over we make our way to Jupiter Station and get ourselves some beer… find some women…."

Malcolm looked at him disbelievingly for a moment, then nodded his head. "Fair enough," he said. "Although, after what happened the last time you suggested that, I should just stay on the ship and realign the phase cannons again."

"Well that wouldn't be much fun," Trip said smiling even wider. "'Sides, that was on an alien planet. I've got a much better feel for women from Earth."

"You mean that literally, don't you?" Malcolm asked dryly.

"Who me?" Trip asked with a look of pure innocence. Malcolm smiled in spite of himself.

Then a crackling noise grabbed their attention.

"What was that?" Trip asked, glancing from side to side. The movement made his head swim.

Malcolm got to his feet faster than he thought possible and pivoted on one foot until he had scanned their surroundings. He found nothing.

"Perhaps we should move on," he said.

"I think that might be best," Trip said, reaching a hand up for assistance.

Malcolm extended his hand toward Trip, but didn't quite catch hold before it was suddenly jerked away. The Lieutenant started back, then realized what had happened. Trip's wrist was encircled by a long woody tentacle that seemed to be trying to pull at him. The suspicion was confirmed almost immediately when Trip was yanked over sideways, right arm stretched straight over his head. He moaned in pain as his injured left arm was jarred by the movement.

Malcolm dove for the Commander's feet as they started to move away from him, dragged along with the rest of his body by the vine. He secured his grip and turned to dig his heels into the ground. Trip stopped moving, but his arm was stretched painfully, hand turning red.

"Malcolm," he gasped, "get it off me."

Malcolm's lips were set in a determined line as he pulled his way up toward Trip's wrist. As soon as he was close enough he reached a hand and tried to unwind the flexible limb. It didn't budge.

"Malcolm?" Trip pleaded, closing his eyes tightly.

"It's no good," Malcolm replied. "It's not letting go."

They started moving again. The Lieutenant's feet skidded in the grass as he tried desperately to halt the vine's progress, then he made a decision. He reached above Trip's hand and grasped the vine. At the same time he stopped braking with his feet and let the momentum of the vine's tugging send him into a summersault that landed him just above Trip's head. There was a loud snap as a well placed kick connected with the snaking limb.

The vine stopped pulling but still held fast to Trip's wrist. Malcolm tried once more to unwind it from the Commander's hand, but still it held on. Desperate, he circled around behind Trip and started pulling him back.

Then the vine released sending both of them flying back against the tree stump. Trip landed on top of Malcolm forcing an audible rush of air from the Lieutenant's lungs. There was a thud that Trip realized was Malcolm's head connecting with the stump.

"Malcolm!" Trip managed between pants. "Y'ok?"

"Get off of me," Malcolm gasped, pushing wildly at Trip as he rolled over.

Both lay there for a moment, trying to catch their breath, before they heard it. The same crackling sound, but at a distance. It was all around them now. It sounded like more vines were closing in, trying to surround them. Trip realized that the grasses were still humming around them. Were they calling for help? If they were, the call was definitely being answered.

They pulled themselves unsteadily to their feet. There would be no more rests. No more stops for any reason. They were being hunted now, and their enemy wasn't just confined to the deep woods.

Trip halfway expected his friend to snap out an 'I-told-you-so' as they staggered away from the clearing, but that was the farthest thing from Malcolm's mind.

**__**

IV

Trip suspected they both had concussions. He felt weak and shaky and Malcolm looked pale and exhausted. Initially, the armory officer had been helping to support him as they trudged through the forest, but now Malcolm was stumbling and Trip found himself trying to help his friend along. Perhaps it was the hours without rest as well. His arm and head throbbed painfully with each step, but they could not stop. It had been several hours since their near-miss in the clearing and neither of them relished a repeat of that incident. Even the shortest plants writhed around their feet, trying to catch hold. It seemed MerAhn was right though, they had been fine as long as they kept moving.

"How much farther d'ya suppose?" Trip asked finally, breaking a long standing silence.

"Don't know," Malcolm said breathlessly. Then he stopped and glanced up, a look of fear in his eyes that Trip hadn't noticed before. "Trip," he choked out as he fell to his hands and knees.

Trip reached down to help him up, but Malcolm wrapped an arm around his middle and retched violently. Trip looked in horror as a pool of dark red blood spread in front of his friend, then the green tendrils started grabbing at them, humming quietly. He looked around. The vines would find them soon. There were vines everywhere. Adrenaline surging, he pulled Malcolm to his feet with his good arm. Malcolm's head tipped back showing blood tinged lips. He was shaking now and tried to curl up around the arm he had across his stomach.

"Jesus, Malcolm," Trip breathed. "Why didn't ya tell me y'were hurt?"

"Didn't realize at first," Malcolm said quietly through shaky breaths. "Then...there was nothing you could do."

Trip ignored his first impulse and decided not to argue with him. He used what energy he had to pull them both along before the plants could take hold. His face blanched as he automatically tried to use his injured left arm to help support Malcolm. He realized that in his condition he was barely able to pull himself along, let alone someone else, and his friend was leaning on him heavily now. Malcolm seemed to hear the thought.

"Trip," he said weakly. "Leave me." His voice was resigned, accepting.

"I'm not leavin' ya anywhere," Trip said, panting from exertion. His tone left no room for argument, but Malcolm wouldn't have had the strength for it anyway. His condition seemed to be deteriorating rapidly and Trip realized shock was probably setting in. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. They would go as far as they could, then they would stop and it would be over. It wouldn't be long.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 3

A/N -- Sorry it took me so long to update! Thanks to all who reviewed. Tata - don't worry, the story is all but finished so I'm definitely going to continue it!… Vanishing2000 - thanks for reviewing my other story as well as this one… KaliedescopeCat, Jaws, julie, stage manager, Ocean, ingvardk & ally, thanks!… Exploded Pen, thank you, thank you & I hope the kittens are doing well…:o) TLI -- I wasn't going to ask, but I have to know… atute??? Bad computer!!! Let the poor Libran have her spaces please… I am still going to go back to chapter 1 to remove some errors. As Rinne pointed out, I used the "F" word also. -- That's Federation, not… well, you know! Cordy B

A/N 2 -- added 12/17/04 -- reposted chapter w/corrections!

**__**

The Price Of Fear

Chapter 3

__

I

Archer and T'Pol stepped out of the shuttle onto a barren patch of ground. It looked like fire had scorched the area for several meters in any direction. Burnt pieces of grass crunched beneath their feet as they walked slowly toward the rebel welcoming committee standing next to a small hut near the center of the clearing.

"Captain," T'Pol said quietly, nodding surreptitiously at the forest edge, "look at the trees."

Archer glanced around at the edges of the clearing. The tree branches swayed and churned violently.

"There's no wind," he said.

T'Pol nodded. They were close to the hut now, and turned their attention to their hosts.

"Captain," the shorter Tuin in front said, extending a hand in greeting, "I am Abel. We are pleased to have you in our company."

Archer reached out for his hand, but the man did not take it. Instead he turned toward the entrance of the hut. Well, apparently they didn't shake hands.

"Please," he continued, "join us for a talk."

"Of course," Archer replied diplomatically.

Archer turned his head slightly to T'Pol, then moved inside. He was running out of patience already. Every moment in this situation was critical and sitting around talking while his men were lost did nothing to allay the anxiety knotting his stomach, to say nothing of the guilt. He smiled cordially, however, and followed the man into the hut.

The room was dark as their eyes made the transition from the brightness outside. Archer found himself disconcerted. He looked to the back of the hut and saw a glass case, glowing like a museum display. There was a book inside, open on a stand, pages yellow with age. It was like a shrine. The room was quiet for a long time, then he spoke up a little impatiently.

"We need to find our people. You said you would help." The Captain's voice sounded almost sacrilegious in this setting.

A woman, slight in stature, suddenly stood before them. As she spoke her voice seemed to surround them.

"We are honored by your presence," the woman said, bowing her head slightly. "I am Anda, Guide and Keeper of the Book."

"We thank you for your assistance in our search," Archer said.

"You are most welcome," Anda said. "We are happy you decided to accept our offer of help. It would have been very sad if you had fallen prey to hostilities, the forest, or the criminals that hide in it."

Archer smiled and just nodded at her.

"You may be assured that your search will prove fruitful," she continued. "We have knowledge of these things. All is as it must be. All will be as it should be." Then she dropped her gaze to the floor with a solemn expression. "However, you should know that one will be lost."

Archer looked at her alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"I have said," she said as she bowed her head once again, "I am the Keeper. The prophesies of the book have foretold all of this." She glanced over at the book briefly. When she looked up again, she simply stared at him with something like reverence in her eyes. "One will be lost…"

"You mean your book tells you one of my people is going to die?" Archer asked moving toward the case, hand reaching out.

As his hand made contact with the display, Anda nodded her head sharply and a small but burly contingent came out of the shadows to restrain them. The lights in the case disappeared suddenly. Archer heard a scuffling noise where T'Pol should have been, just as he was grabbed by several strong hands and pulled backwards.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, eyes scanning the blackness.

"Please calm yourself, Captain," Anda said with sharp edge to her voice. "The sanctity of the book must not be compromised. I am here only to interpret and share and facilitate."

The lights increased slightly and Archer could see the woman nod her head slightly. His arms were released. He could now see her, but only as a bare shadow.

"My apologies, Captain," she said. "However, the Book demands respect. Please do not do that again."

Then Anda's face appeared in the dimness in front of Archer. "We will help you in your search," she paused briefly, "and in doing so, you will help us in ours."

**__**

II

Trip was at the point of collapse. He realized he had been at this point for a surprisingly long time. He was all but carrying the semi-conscious Malcolm now, but somehow he had kept moving for the last twenty minutes. He didn't know where he found the strength to continue, but he knew he wouldn't be able to go on forever. They needed to find a clearing soon, an area with rocks or bare dirt. It would be safer there. At least for a little while. Weren't there any rocks on this damn planet?

He wasn't even looking forward anymore. There was nothing but green in front. He looked at his feet as they shuffled forward, avoiding the thickest vegetation where possible. He knew for the hundredth time that the next step would be the last he could muster, but then the other foot took up the slack and he kept creeping forward. Still going forward.

He wasn't even looking up when they broke into the clearing, but suddenly his eyes weren't seeing green anymore. Only brown dirt. He thought momentarily that he was hallucinating and after a few halting steps, he stopped. He thought he should fall to his knees right here, but something still kept him upright. If he fell now he knew he wouldn't be able to get up. He turned his head upwards.

"Momi," a girl's voice rang out.

Trip squinted against the paleness of the house that stood in front of him. A pre-adolescent girl of maybe ten or eleven stood in the doorway. She stood hesitant at first, then started toward them from the doorway until hands from behind her grabbed her shoulders and she stopped moving forward, startled. An older woman appeared next to her.

"Go back in the house," the woman said fiercely. Her eyes bored into Trip. She didn't turn to the girl again, but pushed her aside and started down the steps at the front of the house.

"Please," Trip croaked, then paused to catch his breath. He coughed slightly to clear his dry throat then licked his cracking lips. "Please… help us. M..my friend is hurt." Malcolm dangled from his weak grasp and he finally let him slip gently to the ground

"You can't stay here," the woman shouted, gesturing wildly. She stopped a couple feet from them, eyeing Trip confrontationally. "Go back to wherever you came from."

"We crashed back there… in the forest," Trip said, horror in his voice. He looked at her confused. She couldn't mean to send them back there. "We've got no place else to go."

"You can't stay," she said firmly. Then the girl came up next to her.

"Momi," she said, "we have to help them." Her face was serene as she reached a hand toward Malcolm. The woman snatched her arm and roughly pushed her away. The girl landed in the dirt and tears started to well in her eyes.

"I told you to go into the house," the woman said. Then her face softened and she reached down to help the girl to her feet. She pulled her into a tight hug, then turned toward Trip.

"You may stay in the barn tonight," she said, "then you must leave." She looked at Trip with a menacing stare. "You will stay away from my daughter. If you do not, I will kill you." She said no more and, the child still held in her arms, went back into the house. She made no move to help them.

Trip stared in shock as the door to the house slammed shut. He felt empty as hopelessness crept into the pit of his stomach, but pushed away the feeling. Malcolm still depended on him. He looked down at his friend's still, pale form in the orange light of the setting sun, then knelt down and arranged Malcolm's arm over his good shoulder. Standing again with an effort, he dragged them both toward the barn.

**__**

III

The sun was gone and only a slight glow remained at the edge of the night sky. All the lights in the house were out for the night, except for a weak glow that moved from window to window. The woman emerged from the front door carrying a small lamp and a large satchel over her shoulder. She paused on the porch for a moment, then pulled her robe close as she shuddered from the chill of the night. Tipping her head down she walked quietly to the barn.

The barn door creaked open releasing the musty scent of hay and wood shavings. The woman wrinkled her nose in spite of the familiarity of the smell and crept quietly into the barn. She found herself leaning forward, squinting against the nearly opaque darkness that lay outside the small halo from her lamp. Then she heard noise that sounded like harsh breathing.

She turned to the right and the shadows dissipated casting a flickering glow over her visitors. She set her bag down heavily near the small, darker haired man. He didn't stir, but his friend started and looked around, briefly confused. The woman clutched her shawl in a fist, tense and waiting. Finally the man's eyes cleared and settled on her face. They stayed that way for a moment, then the woman broke the awkward silence.

"I am Abella." She bowed her head slightly, not taking her eyes off him.

"I'm Trip," the man responded. He didn't smile. "I wanna thank you for your hospitality." He was being sarcastic, but he didn't seem to care. He turned to look at the man next to him, his face pinched in worry.

Abella began to rummage in the bag beside her. She pulled out another lamp, lit it and set it on a shelf nearby. The new light washed over them.

"I have brought you some food," she said. She pulled out a loaf of bread and set it next to him. Then she pulled out a small box. "I will tend to your wounds as well."

Trip looked at the box. "My friend needs more than just a band-aid." He looked up at her intently. "He's bleedin' internally. He needs a doctor."

"Let me see your arm," Abella said. It almost seemed as if she hadn't heard him.

"Ya have'ta help Malcolm first," Trip said, his voice an urgent plea.

"I am afraid that is beyond my ability." She gently began to untie the makeshift sling. Trip drew in a sharp breath and his face contorted in pain.

Abella loosened the bandage, and stared down at the wound for a too-long moment.

"I am afraid that my medical skills are limited," she said finally. She opened the box and prepared a new dressing to replace the soiled one. "I will not be able to set the bone here."

"I've heard that one before," Trip said. Then, more kindly, he said, "But I 'preciate the help."

She smiled slightly, but didn't look up. She continued working until the wound was covered once again. Trip sat back panting, sweat beaded on his brow. Abella pulled out a small packet of pills.

She pushed a tablet into his hand. "This is for the pain."

He nodded and put the pill in his mouth.

A silence fell between them and she sat staring at him. Trip stayed where he was, leaning against the wall. She felt a twinge of guilt.

"I am sorry for earlier," she said. Trip said nothing so she continued. "You must understand that my first responsibility is to my daughter. I would do anything to protect her from any threat."

Trip had an incredulous look on his face. "Lady, we're hardly a threat to anyone."

"You are more of a threat than you know." She sighed. "There is much you do not understand, nor do I expect you to." She stood rapidly, picked up her bag and started for the door. "There is a water can by the door. I suggest you eat and drink. You will need your strength."

Trip pulled himself up to stop her, but couldn't move fast enough. He fell.

"Please," he said. His voice was frenzied. "There must be somebody who can help us. My friend needs help. You have to send for a doctor."

Abella turned back to him and stopped for a moment. He knelt a few feet from where she had left him, right hand extended in supplication.

"We are all alone here," she said. "We have no means of communication with the outside."

"You must have somethin' ," Trip's voice shook in desperation. "A radio, a communicator, somethin'."

She shook her head sadly, then steeling herself, turned toward the door and left without another word.

**__**

IV

The door flap of the small tent fluttered tentatively in the gentle breeze as T'Pol approached. She stood for a moment in the pale glow that bathed the ground outside the opening. Raising her hand toward the door she cocked her head slightly, listening. Small rustling sounds came from inside.

"Captain?" she asked, somewhat quietly in deference to the hour.

"Come," Archer answered after a short pause.

T'Pol slipped through the narrow opening and stopped just inside. The Captain sat as a shadow just behind the weakly flickering lamp on the table near the end of his cot, his forehead cradled in his hand. After a few seconds he lifted his head to look at her, features obscured in the shadows.

"What can I do for you, Sub-commander," he said tiredly.

"You should rest, Captain," she said. "It is late and there is nothing else we can do until morning."

He tipped his head as he stood up. "What do you make of that book?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" T'Pol asked, momentarily surprised at the change of subject.

"Well, according to our hosts the whole recent history of the planet is written in it's pages. Even our arrival, at exactly this time, was foretold."

"Do you believe that the book is prophetic?"

"I don't know what to believe," Archer sighed.

T'Pol frowned at the last remark. "I find it even more mysterious that Anda seems to be the only one allowed near enough to the book to read it. Perhaps she is lying."

Archer waved his hand. "I hope so." Archer sat down on the cot again. "I hate sitting here doing nothing when two of my people are out there, maybe hurt, or dying…" He shook his head. "And I'm the reason they're there."

"You are not to blame, Captain," T'Pol said.

Archer turned his head toward her sharply. "But I _am_ responsible," he said. "I'm the captain."

T'Pol just looked at him, then he stood again and began to walk slowly back and forth against the backdrop of the lamplight.

"When I was eleven I spent the summer on my grandparents' farm," he began. He paused thoughtfully before continuing. "I remember one day Grandpa and I went on a trip to pick up some equipment. It was a good hour away from home. We came upon a car broken down on the side of the road and Grandpa stopped to help them out.

"It was a hot day and the family was really glad to see us. Grandpa just dug right in and fixed the car and got them going. I helped him. I remember it felt pretty good.

"He told me not to tell Grandma about it, but we were late coming home and she knew something had happened. When she asked me…" Archer shrugged slightly, "well I couldn't lie to her."

"What happened?"

"She didn't talk to him for a week." Archer smiled a little. "She said it was too dangerous to stop and help strangers. What if they were killers, or thieves or something like that? I hadn't really thought of that, but I knew that I didn't regret helping them. Not one bit. Even though it upset her so much.

"Now I know why she was so angry. Look at what we get for being a 'Good Samaritan'." Archer gestured around the room.

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her. "I understand your Grandmother's desire to protect her family," she said. "However, civilized society is founded on the willingness to help one another despite these risks. We must always be on guard that the price of fear is not paid by civility."

Archer sighed. "I realize that," he said, "but at certain moments the cost of civility seems a little too high."

**__**

V

After the door closed, Trip stumbled back to Malcolm's side. The lamplight coming from the shelf flickered shadows across the Lieutenant's face, emphasizing the pallor of his skin. Trip sat down heavily next to his friend, wincing slightly. He silently stared at the man, fear on his face, then reached a shaky hand to check the pulse at his neck. It was weak and rapid. His breathing was rapid too. None of these, Trip realized, were good signs. Then, unexpectedly, the Lieutenant's eyes fluttered open slightly.

"Malcolm?" Trip's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How're ya feelin'?"

"Thirsty," Malcolm whispered, almost inaudibly. His eyes tried to close again.

"I'll get ya something'." Trip scrambled over to the door and brought back the water can. He sat down next to Malcolm and tore a small piece of his uniform off, rinsed it with a few splashes of water, wrung it out, then dipped it in the can.

"Here ya go Malcolm," he said as he placed the square of water-dampened fabric between his friend's lips. Malcolm sucked at it weakly and looked at Trip. "Ya shouldn't really be drinkin' anything'," Trip said. "This'll have to do for now."

After a moment Trip took the cloth away and Malcolm started to speak again so quietly that the Commander had to lean down to hear him.

"Where are we?" Malcolm asked.

"We're safe," Trip responded with the most reassuring tone he could manage. "We need to get'cha a doctor though." He put a trembling hand on Malcolm's shoulder as a look of pain pinched his features. "Don't worry though. Everythin'll be all right."

"No doctor," Malcolm said. Trip looked at him confused. "I heard her," Malcolm continued. "There's no doctor."

"No," Trip shook his head rapidly, "there's gotta be. She's holdin' out on us 'cause she wants us to leave. She's gotta have a radio, or communicator, or somethin'." Trip straightened up. "I'm gonna make sure that she lets us use it." He started to stand.

Malcolm's hand reached out and gripped Trip's arm with surprising strength.

"It's too late Trip," he said.

Trip's eyes were stinging. He didn't know if it was from grief or fear or anger from Malcolm's statement.

"I can't stand listenin' to your pessimism, Lieutenant," Trip said a little harshly. He tried to get up, but Malcolm didn't let go.

"Not pessimism," he said, then choked back a small cry of pain.

Trip's stomach knotted with guilt. "I'm sorry, Malcolm," he said. "I didn't mean it." He started to get up again more slowly, but this time it wasn't Malcolm's hand that stopped him.

"Please don't leave me." Malcolm's voice seemed agitated.

"Don't worry." Trip spoke in his most reassuring tone. He realized the conversation was taking a lot out of his friend. "Just calm down. Everythin'll be fine. I'll be back in a few minutes. Okay?"

"I'm afraid," Malcolm said, his voice a strained whisper. "Please don't leave. I don't want to die alone."

The quiet statement pierced through Trip. He had never heard those words from the armory officer before. They seemed to reverberate through the quiet barn. The man had faced death on several occasions, even welcomed it with a martyr's stoicism at times. But this was different. This was so senseless. There was no purpose to it. He would die, not to save the ship or crew, or even another civilization. He would just die.

Trip sat down again heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He knew in his heart that Malcolm was right. There wasn't enough time. It would be over soon. The tears shining in his eyes finally started to fall.

**__**

VI

It had only been a short time since their host had gone, but it seemed like an eternity. Trip watched Malcolm's gray face in the flickering lamplight and clutched tightly at his hand. His own tears had stopped falling, leaving grimy streaks behind along his cheeks. He sat, rocking slightly, insides roiling as if he had been physically beaten. He was exhausted too. His arm and head still throbbed, and lack of sleep wasn't doing them any favors.

Malcolm's breath came in short gasps. He had vomited blood again and Trip was splashed in it. He didn't seem to notice though and made no attempt to clean it off. He just sat there, staring…waiting…knowing… silently asking why.

He hardly noticed as a pale shadow from the now open door floated across him.

The little girl made almost no sound as she crept forward, one foot barely in front of the other. Trip numbly let his gaze rise to meet her and she stopped. A tentative smile touched the corners of her mouth. He turned his head back toward Malcolm.

"You'd better leave," he said. He didn't know why he even cared if the kid's mother got mad.

He heard her move closer until she was next to him, then a small voice broke the silence.

"Can I help?"

Trip looked at her. He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I wish ya could." Then more softly, " Really wish ya could."

The girl looked at Trip. The tears had started again and he was sobbing quietly. She touched a tear on his face, her own eyes spilling over. Finally, she pressed her lips together and turned toward Malcolm. She reached out and gently clasped his hand.

Then something happened. The room seemed brighter. The light, Trip realized, was coming from the girl and spreading out over Malcolm. Startled, Trip released his grip on Malcolm's other hand and stared in open-mouthed amazement.

He barely noticed as the door slammed open behind him, but his head turned belatedly to the sound of Abella's hurried footsteps as she ran to her daughter's side. Horror was etched into her face as she jerked the girl's arm and pulled her away from Malcolm. The girl let out a shriek and the light faded.

"No!" Trip shouted as the woman dragged the girl out of the barn. He tried to follow, but his remaining strength failed him and he sank to the ground. "All this time, you had it in your power to save him!" he shouted. Then his voice took on a pleading tone. "You have to let her help him. Please, you have to help him."

The girl's cries and struggles disappeared quickly out the door leaving nothing but silence and the sound of Trip's own breathing. He didn't hear Malcolm anymore.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 4

A/N -- Okay! Lots of thanks & many boxes of virtual chocolates to Rinne (I hope you like nougats & cremes J )--- My new Beta!!! Thank you Rinne for getting rid of some of my more cringeworthy grammatical errors. I also fixed the shield thingy & the Federation thingy. If I missed any corrections, it's my fault. Anyway, I reposted chapters 1-3 along with this added chapter.

Thanks to all who reviewed! TLI -- I like that quote & you're right, very much like Trip … Luna -- I hope you don't work on the weekend :)… Exploded Pen-- Please… not the pointy stick!… Tata -- well… ;) … KaliedescopeCat -- Yup, definitely a place to avoid, but I'm glad you're enjoying… stage manager, vanishing2000, Reedie & ally -- Still going, sorry about the wait… WhtevrHpnd2Mary -- Thanks for telling me about the shields again. Kcat mentioned it, so I realized I needed to change it, but didn't think of the consequences until you pointed it out. All fixed now… Sam23 -- Thanks!… Celebrodwen --Close to the end now. Just a few more updates. -- J

On with the story!

**The Price Of Fear**

**Chapter 4**

**I**

The search started again at daybreak. They moved briskly with T'Pol in the lead, her scanner outstretched. The captain and two Tuin surrounded her in guard position, alert for any dangerous movement. Most of the search area was covered during the previous day's efforts, so it didn't take long before T'Pol's pace faltered, then increased substantially.

"I may be registering a human life sign, Captain," she said, not looking up from her readings.

The fact that T'Pol only referred to one human life sign was not lost on Archer. His stomach clenched as he hurried after her, but his mouth refused to work. He passed T'Pol as they burst into the clearing... and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

There was Trip, sitting next to the door of an old barn. He was slumped, but seemed to be awake. Archer rushed over to his friend, his knee dropping audibly as he crouched next to him.

"Trip?" he asked tentatively. The Commander definitely seemed out of it. Archer looked at the makeshift sling before finally taking in the disheveled appearance of his chief engineer. His clothes were tattered and dirty, his face muddied. Were those splatters of blood? What struck him most though, was the hollow look in Trip's eyes.

Archer glanced up to T'Pol who now knelt on the other side. He looked back to Trip and put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Trip turned bleary eyes to face the captain.

"Where's Malcolm?" Archer asked.

Trip shook his head and looked away. "He's in there," he said, deliberately looking away from the barn door. T'Pol stood quickly and moved toward the door.

"He died last night," Trip said, then dropped his chin to his chest. "He's dead Jon…he…I couldn't…" He stopped talking and clenched his eyes shut.

Archer put a comforting hand on his shoulder, then nodded to one of the Tuin that had come to stand next to them. The man assumed a kneeling position next to Trip as Archer moved quickly to follow T'Pol into the darkened barn.

T'Pol was already kneeling beside the still body of Malcolm Reed, moving her scanner over him.

"Commander Tucker was correct," she said. "There are no life signs, Captain." Then she paused, a puzzled expression on her face.

"What is it?" Archer demanded.

"There are some unusual energy readings," T'Pol explained. "I've never seen anything like them before. There are no life signs, but this energy seems to be traveling through the Lieutenant's body on a cellular level." Then she squinted at the readout as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "There are also no signs of cellular degeneration. Cellular decay begins almost immediately after death but there is no evidence of it." She glanced up at Archer.

"Do you mean to say he's alive?" he asked.

"As I said, there are no life signs," she said slowly, "but he does not seem to be dead either." She looked at him meaningfully, although he still wasn't sure what she was saying.

She continued. "However mysterious the cause, the effects seem to be similar to the those of cryogenics, or other preservatory methods. The damage to his body however is extensive. I suggest we move him back to the ship as quickly as possible. Perhaps the doctor can still help."

Archer nodded and started to stand up. At that moment, a loud crash drew their attention toward the door. A woman's loud shrieks pierced the air. Archer spun and headed for the door, leaving T'Pol behind with Malcolm.

The brightness outside was in stark contrast to the darkness inside the barn. Archer squinted as his eyes adjusted to the spectacle before him. A woman was held between the two Tuin that had accompanied them. There were also two others with them, one holding a young girl by her upper arm. She tugged a little at her captor, but her struggles were nothing compared to those of the woman.

She shrieked at the top of her lungs, jarring the men holding her with the ferocity of her movements.

"You cannot have her," she spat, her cries almost indecipherable. "I will not let you take her."

Then she wrenched her hand toward her and sunk her teeth into one of her captor's arms. He let out a scream and released her and she fell to the ground with a feral look on her face. They all converged around her, each taking hold of one of her limbs, careful to stay away from her sharp teeth as she thrashed.

"What's going on here?" Archer demanded as he approached the barely subdued woman.

"She is a criminal," the Tuin with the bloody arm said caustically, "a kidnapper and child abuser." The last statement drew a renewed bout of thrashing and shrieking from the woman. The Tuin used his opportunity to take revenge for his arm, slamming her head to the ground. Another kicked her as she lay dazed. Archer pushed himself in front of the woman's attackers.

"Where I come from people are not judged until they are found guilty in a court of law," he said, glaring at them.

"Then you are a long way from home," the bleeding Tuin snarled. They stood for a moment, glaring at each other before one of the others noticed something.

"The girl," he said, barely hidden panic edging his tone. "She's gone!"

_**II**_

Trip had pulled himself up out of the dust by the barn door and followed the girl inside. It was all he could do not to turn away when his eyes fell on Malcolm's body. T'Pol knelt next to it, intent on her readings, but glanced up as her sensitive ears picked up their approach over the noise outside. The girl continued moving forward silently, then knelt near T'Pol staring fixedly at her.

"I am Iana," she said as if explaining her presence. "I must complete what I have started."

"To what are you referring?" T'Pol asked, her brow wrinkling slightly. The girl reached a hand toward Malcolm, but T'Pol stopped her with a hand around her wrist.

"It's okay Sub-Commander," Trip said hoarsely. "It's okay, let her finish."

T'Pol looked up at Trip, her face a picture of confusion. Trip nodded and she released her grip on Iana's hand. Trip watched as the girl let her hand rest on Malcolm's chest and her eyes closed. Her face took on the aura of an angel as the now familiar glow surrounded her and spread to Malcolm.

Trip watched in a combination of anticipation and horror as he looked at the girl's face. Her youthful features and black hair seemed bleached by the unearthly illumination. Was her hair really becoming white? Were there really creases forming in the once smooth face? Then he looked down at Malcolm's face. He could have sworn the pallid mask of death he was wearing was taking on a life-like hue. It was as if they were all sharing a dream. A miraculous dream. He gaped in spite of the fact he was rapidly coming to believe that this wasn't really happening at all.

Then the girl fell on top of Malcolm and the glow began to fade. Her hair really did seem to be white, her hands like an old woman's. Trip watched as T'Pol's hand hovered tentatively over the girl. Iana was still except for the steady movement of breathing. Even this, Trip realized, did not come from her anymore. The breathing was Malcolm's. The Lieutenant's eyes flickered open as the light faded and the girl crumbled over him. Her ashes were gone before a draft of wind from the open door had a chance to take them away.

_**III**_

Archer appeared first in a shaft of light from the doorway. He rushed in with the Tuin right behind him. They suspected the girl had entered the barn and Archer was determined to stop them from hurting her too.

The girl was not there, but another sight brought him up short, his head reeling in shock. Malcolm's eyes were open and T'Pol and Trip were kneeling on either side of him. Trip stared down, eyes fixed on a cloth lying over the Lieutenant. Archer smiled incredulously. Malcolm was alive! He was just trying to register this in his mind when the woman from outside flew into the room. She stopped and stared along with the rest of them for a brief instant before kneeling near Malcolm and dissolving into tears. Her hands hovered over what Archer realized was the girl's dress. The smile fell off of his face.

"Abella?" Trip said. He put a hand on her shoulder but she shook it violently away. "I didn't know…" He shook his head disbelievingly. His composure at that moment was like a fragile shell ready to break apart under its own weight. "I didn't know what would happen."

"_She_ didn't know what would happen either," the woman said, her angry voice laced with despair. "I tried to tell her but she wouldn't listen to me." She snatched Iana's dress from where it lay on top of Malcolm.

Startled, the Lieutenant tried to move away from her, but it seemed to be difficult for him. He started to become agitated. Trip put a hand on his shoulder and he relaxed again.

"Malcolm?" Trip started. He snatched a brief glance to where Abella sat, head bowed, then looked back down at his friend.

Malcolm turned his head. He seemed to be making an effort to focus on the Commander's face. After a pause his lips began to move. "Trip," he mouthed, but no sound came out.

"'S'ok Malcolm," Trip said as T'Pol passed her scanner over the Lieutenant again.

"T'Pol, what happened?" Archer asked.

Trip answered out of turn. "She…the girl, she saved him. She's gone, she…. " His words trailed off as he nodded toward the dress in Abella's hand.

Archer watched quietly while T'Pol worked. He noted that Trip was looking at the woman again while his hand rested on Malcolm's shoulder. The look of grief in the Commander's haunted eyes was now replaced with guilt. Abella clutched the dress in her dirty knuckles oblivious to anything or anybody around her. She wept brokenly, soaking the cloth in hot, inconsolable tears. Archer tore his eyes away. There would be time to mourn…later.

"Sub-Commander?" the captain asked looking on expectantly.

She glanced up at the captain then looked back down at Malcolm. "Lieutenant Reed, do you know who I am?"

Malcolm shifted his gaze to her. "T'Pol?" he asked quietly.

"Do you know where you are?" she continued.

"I…I don't…know." He seemed to speak with an effort, his eyes darting in confusion as if he were searching for answers written in the air in front of him. T'Pol glanced up at Archer, then Malcolm continued.

"I…think… were we attacked?" he asked finally, his brow knitting. Then he became agitated again, looking around urgently. "Where's Trip? I think… he was hurt."

"I'm right here Malcolm." Trip's hand was still on the Lieutenant's shoulder, but Malcolm only just noticed it. He looked at Trip gratefully even though he didn't quite seem to focus on him.

"It…was all…a bad dream then," Malcolm said in a shaky voice, sighing in relief. "I…thought…." He shuddered visibly.

Archer locked eyes with Trip and shook his head in a silent warning. He knelt down near T'Pol where Malcolm could see him better.

"Everything's going to be fine…" Archer said. "We've come to take you and Trip back to _Enterprise_." He placed a hand on Malcolm's. After a brief moment he nodded to T'Pol then stood and moved away. She followed him a short distance until their low voices were out of earshot of the small group.

"He seems disoriented," Archer said.

"I am not sure that is entirely unexpected," T'Pol answered. "Considering that he has, after all, come back from the dead."

Archer nodded slowly as T'Pol turned her head slightly to look at the readings saved on the scanner.

"Besides the lingering confusion, there seem to be some physical problems as well." T'Pol continued. "The Lieutenant is exhibiting a fever. It is as if he is fighting some sort of infection."

"Is it serious?" Archer asked.

"I cannot determine that," T'Pol said, frowning at the readout. "However, I find it puzzling that the girl could have repaired such extensive physical damage, but still have left an infection."

"Phlox needs to look at him," Archer said, turning back toward the others. "I think it's time we got back to _Enterprise_ and sorted everything out."

"Agreed," T'Pol said. She turned to follow him, but they were both stopped short by weapons drawn by the Tuin. Archer reflexively jerked his hand toward his phase pistol, but was stopped when the Tuin with the bloody arm leveled his pistol at Trip's head. Another Tuin came forward to take the captain's weapon.

"You will not be returning to your ship," he said.

"I don't know what you're after," Archer started, " but this is unacceptable. We came here to find our people and bring them home." He paused, but received nothing but impassive stares. "I don't think your leader will be happy when she finds out how we have been treated."

"Everything we do is by the command of the Keeper," he replied. "We were sent to find the girl. She was the Healer. But she has transferred to this…alien." He all but spat the last word out nodding at Malcolm. "He is the Healer now. You will return with us."

"He's sick," Archer said, "and Commander Tucker is injured. They need medical help."

"They will have all the help they need," the Tuin said, "back at camp." He waved his pistol at Archer. "Now move."

_**IV**_

They were forced into the dim shrine without a word. Malcolm and T'Pol were in the lead with Abella close behind still clutching Iana's dress . Trip stumbled against Archer as he was shoved from behind, then the door snapped shut. The captain turned his head with an acid look at one of the guards, then turned to help Trip. He laid a supporting hand on the Commander's shoulder as he started to waver, then caught him by the arm as he faltered.

Malcolm and T'Pol looked over in concern and moved toward them until all four were clustered on the side of the room near the door. Trip looked up at them slowly as he regained his footing.

" 'M ok," he said nodding at Archer.

The Captain looked at him skeptically, then turned his head as the door opened again. The guards pushed the small group toward the center of the room and Anda, the Keeper, followed them in.

Archer looked at her, a hard edge to his stare. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding," he began with more bluff and bravado then he felt. "One that I expect you will rectify quickly."

"Really, Captain?" she asked. Her manner was different than before, less than conciliatory.

"My men have been found," Archer said. "They require medical attention. We must be allowed to return to our ship."

Anda glared at him but didn't respond. She turned briskly toward one of the Tuin. "Where is the girl?" she demanded.

"She is gone." The man looked as if he were being pierced with a thousand nails. He cringed as he spoke, gesturing at Malcolm. "She passed the gift to him."

"We did not witness it personally," another Tuin added, a little more bravely. "The girl went into the barn. She disappeared and we found nothing but her clothing left behind." He nodded toward Malcolm. "This one lay on the ground before her. He was thought to be dead only moments before."

Anda blanched visibly. "Could it be true?" she asked. She paused, then made her way to the case that contained the book.

"Could you please explain why we are prisoners?" Archer asked. His eyes followed her across the room as she walked to the shrine where the book was held.

Anda stood over the case for a moment, then reached inside and pulled the book out. She glanced up meaningfully, then slammed the cover shut loudly, drawing gasps from most of the surrounding Tuin.

"We have no further need of the Book," she said, approaching Archer with an unwavering stare. The agitated whispers of her people filled the room. Finally she stood in front of him, the leather-bound volume held between her hands in front of her.

"The last pages told of the recovery of the girl… the 'Healer'," Anda said. "After that our mission was to be completed.

"Our planet has had a Healer since time immemorial. She is a beacon of hope for every generation. She is a balancer of inequity, the cornerstone on which our beliefs are built. She is always female and _always_ Tuin."

"If that is the case," Archer said a little impatiently, "would you care to explain why we are still being held here?"

"The Healer's disappearance ten years ago caused internal divisiveness and created an environment of war and strife. It has been our mission to return our people to the state of grace we enjoyed before. We cannot reclaim that peace without the Healer." Anda turned slightly toward Malcolm. "If there is a chance that your friend could carry on the legacy, there may still be hope for us."

A bitter laugh filled the room and echoed in the silence that followed. All eyes turned to where Abella stood against the far wall.

"How few were saved," she scoffed, "and at what cost?" She looked down at the dress in her hands again. "I watched so many of them suffer and die. They healed some, yes, but each time they lost a little of themselves until they withered into nothing." She threw an imploring gaze at the Keeper. "After what we have seen, I do not know how you could bear to witness it again."

"The people need the Healer," Anda said, her tone almost supplicatory. "She gave them hope."

"If they knew what happened to the Healer their hope would turn to horror," Abella said. "As has mine."

A silence fell over the room. Anda glanced around at the small gathering, then focused on her prisoners.

"And you," she said addressing Archer, "your friend was saved by the Healer. Do you not see the value in her Works?"

"We believe in the value of life," Archer said, "but not at the cost of another life."

"You allowed her to heal him," Anda argued looking at Trip. "You allowed her to die."

"I didn't know she was goin' to die," Trip was shaking his head furiously, "just that she wanted to help."

"And if you knew she would die, you would have stopped her?" It was meant to be a rhetorical question. Anda looked as if she were going in for the kill.

Trip bowed his head and was quiet for a moment. Anda glanced around in triumph. Then Trip said quietly, "I woulda had to stop her. Malcolm would never have wanted to trade her life for his. He's not like that. We're not like that."

Trip looked up at the Lieutenant. He had been listening carefully. There was still confusion in his eyes, but a terrible understanding seemed to be dawning within them. Malcolm looked at Abella still holding the dress, silent tears streaming down her face and backed away from her, his head shaking slowly from side to side until he was against the wall and could go no further. Then he slid down to the floor.

"We're not like that either," Abella said. The other Tuin looked at her as she continued. "It has been ten years since the Healer disappeared. We have survived without her until now."

"But look at the wars," Anda said, "look at the hatred it has caused."

"That is no one's fault but our own," Abella said. "We cannot use suffering as the foundation of our society.

Anda looked from one to another in disbelief. Her gaze fell last on Malcolm where he sat trembling against the wall. She tore her eyes away and fixed a stare on Archer.

"Let us return to our ship," Archer bargained. "Our facilities are well equipped. Our doctor should be able to detect if there have been any changes in Lieutenant Reed." Archer hoped the sincerity of his request wasn't lost on her, but she cast her eyes downward. "You're welcome to join us," he added.

"But you do not share our beliefs," Anda replied shaking her head. "I'm afraid I cannot comply with your request," She glanced back up at Archer. "There is only one way to determine if he is the Healer."

Archer felt he was rapidly losing control of the situation -- if he ever had any measure of control here in this dimly lit room stocked with what were probably the planet's most fanatic people.

Trip was still leaning on him slightly as Archer briefly considered an escape attempt. There were six Tuin, not including the Keeper or Abella. Normally these would have been good odds, but not considering the condition of his people. Trip wasn't in any condition to fight and Archer wasn't sure he wanted to test Malcolm's hand-to-hand combat skills. The Lieutenant seemed to have regained some of his composure, but his eyes were unfocused and he seemed tired. Maybe there was still a diplomatic way out of this situation. There didn't seem to be any other option.

"We only tried to help you," Anda continued feverishly. "But how do you repay us? You have destroyed us. Stabbed us in the back and pierced us through our very hearts. You have destroyed all that means anything to us."

Then Anda's hand lashed out. Trip's eyes widened in shock as his mouth worked, but nothing came out. The Keeper removed her hand and Archer noticed it came back red. He grabbed her roughly by the wrist, but had to let go as the Commander slumped against him. Archer looked down, horrified, and saw the handle of a small knife jutting from Trip's stomach, bright redness spreading away from it.

_**V**_

Malcolm's eyes were shut tightly where he sat against the wall until a shocked gasp snapped them open. They came slowly into focus to a vision of Trip sliding to the floor, a bloody trail left on Archer's hands and arms. The Commander was looking up, eyes staring into nothing, hand outstretched and quivering in the air. Then he collapsed completely to the ground and lay still.

Malcolm's mind immediately registered that something horrible had happened, but he just sat there. Shouldn't he do something? A hand reached down pulling him to his feet, then tossed him to the ground in front of Trip. He was grateful for it. This was where he was supposed to be. He stared in horror at the blood spreading across Trip's stomach and fought the urge to vomit. The hand grabbed his wrist firmly and moved it toward Trip, then suddenly released him.

"He cannot be forced," Anda said, a stern look on her face as she pulled the other Tuin away. "He must do it of his own accord." The guard backed away.

Malcolm glanced at Anda, then reached a shaky hand toward the Trip. Was there really a question now of what he would do? What he must do? His hand almost touched Trip's chest but Archer took hold of his wrist. Malcolm's head spun toward him.

"It could kill you," Archer said simply.

Malcolm looked at him for an instant that seemed to draw into eternity. He saw the warring emotions in the sharp green eyes. He knew how much saving his friend would mean to the captain, it would mean as much to him, perhaps more. He turned his head back toward Trip.

"It should not kill him," Anda said softly, in deference to the conflict displayed before her.

"The girl died," Archer said, anger rising in his voice.

"She pulled your Lieutenant Reed from the very depths," Anda said. "Commander Tucker is not dead… yet."

The color fled from Malcolm's face as he glanced at the Captain.

Archer nodded and released his hand, then Malcolm turned quickly back to his task. Trip was unconscious now, breathing shallow. Malcolm moved his hand a little more slowly then he intended, but finally touched Trip's chest. The blood had spread there now. Trip's blood. Too much of it. He couldn't stand to look at it.

Malcolm closed his eyes as everyone gazed on, wide-eyed, to where he knelt. A long moment heavy with hope came and went, but as the moment stretched thinner and thinner, it seemed there would be no more miracles today. There must be none left. He pleaded silently, but in vain. Trip's eyes remained closed and his breathing slowed even further. Was he even breathing anymore? Finally, Malcolm's hand fell away in defeat, his body motionless except for the shaking of his shoulders in silent grief.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 5

A/N - Thanks to everyone who reviewed for your patience. Special thanks to Rinne for taking the time to beta this for me. I'm still dancing around saying "I've got a beta... I've got a beta..." and a damn good one too- Again, if I missed anything it's my fault. You've all been so awesome I can't believe it.

Exploded Pen - Thank you for sparing me from the pointy stick. Maybe you'll have to use it on me next story... WhtevrHpnd2Mary - Sorry for the roller coaster ride (wait, no I'm not!). Lot of questions I'll be addressing in the sequel I'm planning (rubs hands excitedly)...Tata - Sorry it took so long...TLI - Thanks! I'm glad I managed to keep you guessing...KaliedescopeCate - Not going too much farther, but willtie upthe loose ends in the next story.In fact, the loose ends are the better part of the next story ...Stage Manager, Laura B, Jani, Jaws, Truetrefan rebekah78 - I knowI took too long. A lot of cliffhanging. Hope you like the end... Roaring Mice - Thanks for sticking with it.I probably need to workmaking the first part more interesting next time. Thanks for the input!

... Anyway, now that I'm all done, please let me know what you thought.

CordyB :)

****

The Price Of Fear

Chapter 5

I

Anda stared in disbelief. This couldn't be the way it ended. Not after all she had tried to do. Not after the sacrifices she had made. She watched as Archer gently eased Lieutenant Reed away from the Commander and still she couldn't believe it. She continued to stare, waiting, after everyone else had turned away, then her eyes drifted down to a terrible sight that wrenched her back into reality.

She stared down at her red, bloodied hands, then back up to where Commander Tucker lay. A lead weight pressed against her chest and she found it difficult to breath. There was a horrible emptiness eating her. This should have been a time of rejoicing, but instead nothing was as it should be…and never would be again. Then she turned and flung herself at Abella, who reached out instinctively to her.

"What have I done sister?" Anda said staring at Abella's face with wide, unblinking eyes.

Abella shook her head, her hands dropped to her side. "It has been many years since you called me that," she said.

She looked on as T'Pol moved in and found a spot on the side of the Commander's neck. The Vulcan looked up and slowly turned toward Archer and shook her head.

"You've killed a man," Archer responded to Anda's question. "That's what you've done." He closed the gap between them in a few quick steps, only to be held back by the Tuin guards. "You're a cold-blooded murderer."

"It was never supposed to be about death," Anda said desperately. "It was supposed to be about life."

"It was always about death," Abella said quietly. "This place is steeped in horror and death. It is what our lives have become."

Anda buried her head into Abella's shoulder, bloody fingers clutching at the other woman's robes.

"It is over," Abella said, reaching her hands back up to embrace the trembling Keeper. She looked into Archer's eyes, and in that brief instant she realized they shared the same understanding. She spoke to the guards that held him.

"Let him go," she said. "Let them all go. It is over."

The guards looked with uncertainty at Abella and at the broken form of their Keeper. Then, with no further instructions from Anda, they released Archer, each guard moving slowly away.

"Give them their communication devices and escort them to their craft," she finished.

Abella watched as T'Pol carefully picked up Commander Tucker's limp body and moved to follow the guards out the door. Archer followed closely behind them supporting Lieutenant Reed.

They had a shared realization, she and the captain, an epiphany perhaps. An understanding. In a few moments it would all be over. They would be gone and what was left of her nightmare would leave with them. She smiled thinly in the remaining dimness as the door thumped closed.

****

II

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed stood almost at attention in the front of the gathering with the other senior officers. The captain was speaking, but Malcolm couldn't quite focus on the words he was saying as he stood beside the now-open tube which held Sim's still form. Archer's words were solemn, rehearsed, precise, his emotions held carefully in check as if the slightest deviation would destroy his composure.

This seemed all too familiar. It had happened before, back in the expanse. It couldn't possibly be happening again.

Then Malcolm remembered. He shook his head slightly, the moment like a dizzying dream. It wasn't Sim this time, was it? It wasn't the replica who sacrificed himself to keep the real Trip alive. This was Trip's funeral. The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach, taking his breath away.

His mind was a confusing jumble of distorted, unsequenced events. He tried to think back to where things had gone so terribly wrong, but it seemed that nothing had gone right in a very long while. He wasn't sure where it had started.

Malcolm crossed his arms tightly and closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened, Then Trip was in front of him, a shadowy ghost against the backdrop of his darkened vision. A vivid dream in this new, harsh reality.

Trip crossed his own arms but said nothing and Malcolm looked at him, an inexplicable feeling of guilt washing over him. Then Malcolm opened his eyes and slowly unfolded his arms, hands turned upward toward his face. They were shaking. He remembered kneeling over Trip as he drew his last breaths, remembered the blood, the life slipping out of his friend's body. He could have saved him then, couldn't he have? That's what they had told him. But he didn't.

"I'm sorry Trip," Malcolm managed through his suddenly constricted throat. "I'm so sorry."

Trip just looked at him, a peaceful expression on his face. Did he even hear him? He had to hear him.

"Please," Malcolm continued, looking again at his shaking hands, "forgive me."

****

III

It was deep nighttime in the corridors of _Enterprise_ and Archer was sharply aware of the lack of illumination as he made his way to sickbay. He stopped and stood briefly in front of the doors before they slid open with a slight shushing sound that seemed to remind him to be quiet. It was dim in sickbay as well, but Doctor Phlox was still there, as expected, fussing over the monitors and readings the bed displayed.

"How are they?" Archer asked quietly.

The doctor started slightly and turned to him.

"Ah, Captain," he said, a broad smile spreading across his face. "The Commander's injuries were extensive, but his condition is stable now. I expect him to recover completely, given time."

Archer's face took on a surprised expression as he looked at Trip. He remembered the ride back on the shuttlepod, how he had wondered if Trip wasn't in fact really dead despite T'Pol's assurances. He had certainly fooled their Tuin escorts.

Archer scrubbed a hand over his face in relief, then looked up at the Doctor. "Thank you," he said softly.

Phlox shook his head. "Commander Tucker's injuries were far beyond my or any other doctor's medical skills, Captain."

"Then how…" the Captain paused as a realization struck him and glanced over at the man lying in the other bed.

"We have Lieutenant Reed to thank for that," Phlox said. "The same energy signatures emanating form the Lieutenant's body are also present in Commander Tucker, though to a much lesser degree."

Archer looked at Phlox disbelieving. "But…we didn't see anything down there. The Tuin were convinced that he had failed."

"Probably due to differences between Human and Tuin physiology, I imagine the results were not as dramatic," Phlox said. "The Commander was not completely healed, his condition was merely stabilized. However, the outcome is the same. He is alive."

"So Malcolm is this Healer," Archer said, a look of awe spreading over his face.

"What?" Then Phlox realized what the captain was referring to and shook his head. "No…well, at least not for much longer. And the Lieutenant is definitely not 'The Healer' in the Tuin religious sense."

The captain shook his head. "I'm a little confused. Would you mind explaining what happened here? I thought I had lost two of my people, my friends, and now they are here again… alive. Forgive me if this seems like a miracle to me." He looked up, eyes begging for answers.

"It does seem to be quite the miracle, doesn't it," Phlox said, "but completely explainable I assure you." The doctor laced his fingers in front of him and fidgeted his thumbs absently.

Archer turned back expectantly as Phlox continued, his usual bubbling enthusiasm notably subdued as he went on.

"This is an amazing example of bio-nanotechnology at work," he said, bobbing his head as a slight frown crossed his face. "Very amazing really."

"I'm familiar with nanotechnology, Doctor," Archer said. "Even our hand-scanners would have picked up nanites."

"Ah, but these are not nanites, they are bio-nanites." Phlox said. "They are created using organic materials. They would have used the Lieutenant's own cells and DNA to recreate themselves, to try to make themselves compatible with their host. It's really quite fascinating, if a little controversial. Even now, this technology is in its nascent stages on several worlds. I believe there are even some fringe organizations on Earth researching it."

"So, again, he really is the Healer?" Archer asked.

"For now," Phlox said. Then by way of explanation, "The bio-nanites _are_ the mechanism by which the Healer… well… heals, but Lieutenant Reed's body is rejecting them."

A strained voice drew Archer's attention to Malcolm's biobed.

"I'm sorry, Trip," Malcolm choked out quietly, then faded to a whisper. "I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me."

Archer looked more closely at the Lieutenant. His face was glossy with sweat, eyes jerking fitfully under closed lids. Then he began tossing and mumbling unintelligibly and Phlox moved quickly to press a hypo-spray against his neck.

"Will he be all right?" Archer asked, face a mask of concern.

"The fever will pass once the bio-nanites have been destroyed," Phlox explained, "but he is quite delirious at the moment. The best I can do is keep him sedated until this runs its course."

"Have you tried to extract a sample of these bio-nanites?" Archer asked.

"I have, but with no success," Phlox said. "They are unstable outside of the Lieutenant's body." He looked at Malcolm. "This line will be lost. The nucleus of a bio-nanite is almost impossible to re-create, even with a detailed scan." Phlox turned away slightly, then said more quietly, "I believe the universe will be better for their loss."

"You don't approve of this type of research I take it," Archer said.

"As miraculous as they seem," Phlox said, turning back to face Archer, "I don't think their loss will be so terrible. They've caused a lot of suffering."

"Perhaps you're right," Archer said softly.

Archer gazed down at Malcolm for a moment then turned back to Trip. He let himself breathe a sigh of relief, despite persistent feelings of guilt. He knew T'Pol was right though, he had made the only decisions available to him at the time. He shook his head. Trip and Malcolm would be all right, but what about the girl? The price of fear had not been paid, but she was dead and civility could never bring her back. Nothing could.

- **_Epilogue to follow_**


	7. Epilogue

****

The Price Of Fear

(Epilogue)

2 Weeks Later

Malcolm seemed oblivious to Trip's less than stealthy approach as he sat hunched over his mug in the sparsely populated mess hall. Trip walked up to the table in the corner where the Lieutenant sat and stood for a moment before speaking up to get his attention.

"Mind if I join ya?" he asked.

Malcolm jerked back a little as his head snapped up. There was a unfocused look to his eyes, as if he were waking up from a dream. He stared for a second, then relaxed visibly and sank against the back of his chair.

"Commander," he said, then hastily waved a hand at an empty chair. "Of course."

They sat there for a few seconds before Trip finally spoke.

"Nothin' like a cup of warm milk to help ya sleep," Trip said nodding toward the mug.

Malcolm's hand moved over the top of the mug, but not before Trip realized what was in it.

"But if that's coffee yer drinkin," he said, "I don't think it's havin' the desired effect."

Malcolm looked sheepishly down at the mug. "No, I don't think it is."

"I still think ya should talk ta T'Pol," Trip said, his face taking on a serious expression. Then to Malcolm's blank look, "'Bout the dreams. The neuropressure sessions really helped me to…"

"I'm sure the Sub-commander has other concerns besides my sleeping problems," Malcolm interrupted, his tone sharp. Then he looked up and smiled apologetically. "I'm fine," he nodded, "really."

Malcolm wasn't 'fine' and Trip knew it. He knew because he felt it too. The shock, the death, the aftermath leaving faith behind in shambles. But it _was_ over.

"It'll get better," Trip said quietly. "I'm sure of it."

"You really think so?" Malcolm looked back down, but Trip heard a hopeful edge to the question.

"Yeah," Trip answered, "I really do." Then after a slight pause, "but for now, maybe we could both use a diversion." He looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then smiled as a light seemed to go on in his head. "I seem to recall a trip to Jupiter Station we were gonna make."

Malcolm sighed, then a smirk crept onto his lips. "I seem to recall some phase cannons that need realignment," he said.

"Come on now," Trip said cheerfully. "We're only gonna be here a couple more days."

Malcolm looked down into his mug, then back up as Trip spoke again.

"It's for your own good," Trip said. "And it'll be fun…." His eyebrows waggled drawing a little smile from the Lieutenant. "Ok then, tomorrow it is." Trip left little opportunity for the Lieutenant to object. Then he grinned and stood to leave, but Malcolm's voice stopped him.

"Thank you," he said, then paused and looked at Trip meaningfully, "for everything."

Trip smiled at him. He knew what Malcolm meant. His mind flashed back to the forest, then to the barn, and the terrible moments when Malcolm was dying. He suppressed a shudder. Trip had dreams too. After working through his sister's death though, they were something he understood, something he could deal with. Malcolm would learn to deal with them too.

"Anytime," Trip said with a quick smile. Then he tipped his head slightly and left the room. A ghost of a smile clung unconsciously to his lips with the realization that tomorrow was another day closer to making things right again.

****

Finis


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